


Fireside Stories

by Tamoline



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Tamoline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anora has fond memories of how they met, of how their relationship grew.</p><p>Cauthrien, naturally, remembers things a little differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireside Stories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mautadite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/gifts).



Anora was nine when she first noticed Cauthrien. Oh, she had doubtless seen her around before that, but until that day she’d overlooked Cauthrien amongst the morass of her father’s other soldiers.

She remembers arranging her garden to her satisfaction on a bright summer’s day when her nanny gasped. Turning, she saw a massive snake - easily as thick around as her leg, and longer than she was tall - hissing, about to strike. Casting around for something to fend it off - her nanny was frozen uselessly - she had grabbed a long stick and was about to strike when a tall warrior, limned in beam of sunlight, stepped between her and the snake and struck its head off.

When she turned around to assure herself of Anora’s safety, something clenched within Anora’s chest.

‘Mine,’ she thought. ‘She may be my father’s now, but someday I will make her mine.’

Cauthrien claims to remember it differently. A cloudy day, thick with the anticipation of a storm. A small garden snake, almost certainly not even poisonous, but she’d stepped in to stop Anora from poking it with a stick and irritating it into attacking; something she wouldn’t have even remembered if Anora hadn’t reminded her of it. Anora loftily ignores this version of events - even if it’s not the way it happened, it’s the way that it *should* have happened - and the less said about the expression on Cauthrien’s face when Anora mentions what she thought on that day, the better. Fond amusement is not something she suffers well.

Cauthrien says that the first time she noticed Anora a few months after she was assigned to Gwaren. She says that she was on a patrol around the castle grounds when she heard a tiny imperious voice issuing orders in a manner uncannily reminiscent of Teyrn Loghain. (Anora always glares at her at the use of the word tiny, but can’t help but soften at the mention of the similarity to her father.) Rounding the corner, she saw a young girl organising a group of servants with almost parade ground precision as they beat the tapestries of the castle. 

She says that she couldn’t help but wonder which child could be that quite that prepossessed and asked amongst the other guards. When the answer was that she was the Teyrn’s daughter, Cauthrien says that she went, ‘Oh. Oh, at least I have no fears about the future of the teyrnir.’

Anora’s… not entirely sure that this isn’t Cauthrien mythologising a bit for her benefit. She can’t quite believe that a new guard, especially with as promising a reputation as Cauthrien, wouldn’t have had her teyrn’s daughter pointed out, just in case and undoubtedly her first glance of Anora would have been far more boring. But she appreciates the gift of the tale for what it is, and never says a thing about her doubts.

Anora was thirteen when she first realised that she found Cauthrien attractive. She’d recently become enamoured of kissing, so in typical fashion she arranged for as wide a kissing sample as possible from pretty much any child she could con, convince or cozen into the experiment. If her father had been around, he might well have put a stop to it, but he had been in Denerim as was usual. Cailan, however, had been summering in Gwaren and she’d just sent him away with a verdict of ‘adequate’ which he’d seemed far more pleased with than the judgement merited.

She’d certainly hoped that he would improve by time they got married.

She still hadn’t been quite sure whether she preferred boys or girls on the whole - not that it was going to matter in the long run, but still - and had been casting about for more people she could volunteer when she had spotted Cauthrien, then a captain, and had marched up to her. “Kiss me,” she’d said. “If you wouldn’t mind,” she’d added after a few seconds pretty much as an afterthought.

Cauthrien had choked - a fact that she still denies - and had said, “Excuse me?”

“I’m figuring out kissing. You’re old so you must have at least some experience and,” Anora had said, looking her up and down, “You’re not unattractive. So - kiss me.”

Cauthrien’s face had undergone a number of expressions in quick succession, but she’d finally settled on a single word: “No.”

“Excuse me?” Anora had asked, though Cauthrien insists that it was more of a splutter. Honestly, it hadn’t been so much the refusal - Cauthrien had been far from the first to decline - but for some reason this one irked her more than the rest. She didn’t *want* Cauthrien to say no.

Cauthrien had looked her steadfastly in the eyes. “I think my answer was quite plain, milady. I said no. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Anora had felt the almost irresistible urge to stamp her foot - an impulse she hadn’t had in *years.* “Fine. I imagine I’ll have to find someone else to kiss instead,” she had said very levelly.

Cauthrien had nodded, seemingly very seriously. “I imagine that I’ll have to accompany you, then.”

“You’ve decided to become my bodyguard for the day?” she’d asked archly.

“Something like that,” Cauthrien had murmured and Anora had glared at her, but had accepted her presence with grace.

Even though she had found other, more willing, volunteers, even with Cauthrien’s icy eyes dissuading more than a few, she had found herself looking back again and again, filled with some bizarre regret that Cauthrien had said no.

It had been that night, alone in her bed, when she had still been unable to get the image of Cauthrien’s mouth out of her imagination, that she had realised, ‘Oh. This is what wanting someone must feel like.’

As Cauthrien tells it, Anora had acted with a lot less composure and a lot more in the way of brattiness, but, honestly, the whole episode is embarrassing enough even over a decade later that Anora has never brought it up barring the one time when she had been drunk and nostalgic. Every time since then it has been Cauthrien taking the opportunity to embarrass her. And, looking back on it, she had not really known what wanting anyone was like, still far too formless for the hard, hot edge of desire.

But still. She had known what she had wanted back then, even if she had not known how to fully express it.

The first time Cauthrien is willing to admit that she found Anora attractive is the night before Anora’s wedding, when she had been twenty seven and Anora eighteen, despite Anora’s dire suspicions that the true date had been some time previously. Cauthrien says that she had been rat faced drunk. Anora always primly corrects that to “Mildly merry,” to which Cauthrien typically snorts and mutters, “Mildly falling down.”

Whatever the state of Anora’s intoxication, Cauthrien had found her at the top of one of the towers of Denerim Castle, staring moodily off into the darkness.

“Are you alright, milady?” Cauthrien had asked.

“This is it,” Anora had said with a greater or lesser amount of slurring, depending on who was telling the story. “After tonight, it’s all over. I mean, I like Cailan and he likes me… But is that it? Is that really it? Is there really nothing else?”

Cauthrien had risked an arm around Anora. She hadn’t felt like it was quite proper, even for the commander of Loghain’s elite soldiers, but it had seemed like the right decision, especially when Anora had relaxed into her, a warm presence against the chill of the night air.

“It’ll be fine. Cailan’s a good boy,” she had said. “And if he mistreats you in any way, I’ll challenge him to a duel,” she had added drily.

Anora had looked up at her. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. And you’d doubtless have to be in line behind father, anyway.”

“Giving one’s commander precedence when he wishes it does tend to be a good career move,” she’d noted.

Anora had sloppily smiled at her and Cauthrian had felt something relax inside her at the sight. “Not really what I was talking about, anyway. I just… Shouldn’t there be something more? Something…” She had gestured towards herself - her heart, according to Anora, nearer her groin, according to Cauthrien.

Cauthrien had felt her eyebrow raise. “Duty, milady. None of us get all of what we want.”

Anora’s smile had changed, become something a little more wistful. “Did I ever tell you that you’re what I want.” She had paused, considered. “Wanted.” She had frowned, looking Cauthrien up and down appraisingly. “No, want. Definitely want.”

Cauthrien had swallowed drily, grateful for the darkness helping hide the inexplicable flush she had found spreading across her face. “Thank you, milady. Um, I mean, I’m flattered, but…” 

Anora claims that Cauthrien had looked delightfully flustered and panicked. Cauthrien openly suspects that she had been too drunk to remember anything with any degree of clarity. Anora loftily declines to dignify that with a response.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” Anora had finished with sad smile that had somehow hurt Cauthrien.

“As you say,” Cauthrien had said, and then they had both lapsed into silence for several minutes.

“I never did get that kiss off you,” Anora had said suddenly.

Cauthrien had blinked. “What?”

“Years ago. I asked you for a kiss and you said…” she waved vaguely at Cauthrien. “Your thing. But now? Could we? Please?” She had looked pleadingly up at Cauthrien.

Cauthrien had felt something twist inside of her. “We shouldn’t…” she had said.

Anora had reached up to her, trailing her hand against Cauthrien’s face. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to…” her gaze had dropped down to Cauthrien’s lips. “But…”

Cauthrien, cursing herself, had dropped a kiss onto her lips, only for Anora to wrap her arms around her neck, pulling her in deeper, refusing to let her go. Cauthrien had tasted the burn of the hard liquor that Anora favoured and something less definable before she had been dizzyingly swept away by Anora’s passion.

As they had parted, Cauthrien’s first thoughts had been that Anora’s practise had, indeed, made perfect.

Her second had been that she could absolutely not be here.

“Please excuse me, milady,” she had managed to say before exiting the roof of the tower, leaving Anora flushed and panting behind her. Anora claims that she had fled with her tail between her legs. Cauthrien says that it had merely been a tactical retreat.

In the end, it hadn’t mattered a bit. Anora had married Cailan the next day and Cauthrien had returned to her position at the head of Loghain’s elite forces.

And both of them had done their best not to remember that night on the tower.

Years passed. Cailan’s father had disappeared and Cailan had been crowned king in his place, Anora ruling at his side, and actually doing most of the work of managing the kingdom. The Blight had threatened and Cailan had ridden forth to defeat it. At the last, Loghain - with Cauthrien serving under him - had ridden away rather throw his men into the maw of the Darkspawn, and Cailan had fallen. Loghain had claimed the regency, rather than trusting Anora to hold the kingdom, and had fallen in turn at the Landsmeet when the Grey Warden, an elf by the name of Mirala, had challenged him and placed Cailan’s bastard brother, Alistair, on the throne.

Anora, despite being innocent of any role in Cailan’s death but lacking the power of the throne that her father had denied her, had been imprisoned ‘for the good of Ferelden.’

After the Blight had been defeated, Anora had sat in her stone prison, surrounded by guards and servants who were at best coldly polite to her, and had plotted uselessly about what she could do.

In the end, it had all come down to the same thing. Even if she had managed to escape, she would undoubtedly be used to tear the kingdom apart by whomever she had managed to flee to.

And she wouldn’t do that, not whilst she had any inkling that Alistair, untrained buffoon that he was, was at least managing to keep the kingdom in a better state than that.

So she had sat. And she had stewed. But she had done little else.

In the end, how exactly Anora and Cauthrien had reunited depends, of course, on who you listened to.

For Anora it had been the visit of the Grey Warden, Mirala, accompanied by her then lover, Leliana. Anora is almost positive that they saw it as a kindness, bringing bottles of the Antivan brandy that she favoured with them as well as at least some mention of the world outside. Anora had found it hard to not roll her eyes at news of Alistair’s missteps, even though there were far fewer of them than she had expected, doubtless due to the counsel of Mirala and others. In the end, more out of desperation than anything else, she had made her play.

“I could help advise him, you know.”

Mirala had looked at her over the glass of Mosswine in her hand. “If you don’t mind my asking, what could you possibly have to gain from that?”

“You mean apart from helping keep this country that I have given my life to together.”

“Just so.”

“Maybe the king would see fit to move me back to somewhere nearer Denerim, all the better to advise him.”

Leliana shook her head. “And give you ample opportunity to make clandestine meetings with other nobles? No, we are not that foolish.”

As the opening offer, that had always been likely to fail. “Maybe an improvement in my conditions here. I thank you for the gifts you have brought, but they only go so far.”

“I’m sure that King Alistair will be generous. If your advice is good,” Mirala had allowed.

“And some decent companionship.”

Mirala had looked at her measuringly. “Did you have anyone in particular in mind?”

“I had heard Ser Cauthrien had survived the Landsmeet.”

“Do you think we are fools?” Leliana had asked. “Providing you with one of the greatest warriors in the land would greatly aid any escape plans you had.”

“If I wanted to escape, do you really think I’d still be here?” Anora had asked, though she hadn’t been anywhere near as sure that she could have made her way from the castle if she had wanted to as she had sought to project.

Mirala and Leliana had looked at each other, doubtless having that same conversation, before looking back at her. “We’ll see,” Mirala had said. “Depending on your results.”

It had been the best deal Anora had been likely to get, so she had nodded. “Tell the king I await his correspondence,” she had said, then moved the conversation back in the direction of news from outside.

For Cauthrien, it had been a lot simpler. After giving her word that she wouldn’t try to flee, she had joined the forces defending Ferelden from the Blight and had acquitted herself well in battle. From there she had been allowed to stay in Denerim, under her own recognisance. Naturally, although she had not been stripped of her rank, she had been allowed the command of no men and it had been made very clear that her freedom had depended on her raising no questions about any disloyalty to the throne, and this very much included the topic of Anora.

So she had stayed in Denerim. And she had waited, either for something to change or something worth fighting against.

And then, one day, the King had visited her. After she had knelt before him, he had looked somewhat embarrassed and said, “Up, please get up,” and had sighed. “I still haven’t got used to that.”

“What can I do for you, your majesty?” she had asked.

“If I told you that there was a chance that I’d send you off to serve Lady Anora, would you promise that you wouldn’t help her in any funny business. Like, I don’t know, trying to escape the confines of the castle she’s in or raising a rebellion against me?”

Her heart had leapt at his words, but she forced herself to remain calm. “If you are asking me if I’d stop her… I can’t promise that. She is my liege, and I am sworn to her. But I could give you my oath that I wouldn’t aid her, either.”

He had sighed. “I had thought that you were going to say something like that. Oh very well, I guess that’ll be good enough.”

“Is your majesty being serious?”

He’d waved a hand at her. “Yes, yes. Go ahead. I trust you can find your own way there.”

She’d blinked. “Have the guards been told to expect me?”

“Not as such, no,” he’d said and dug into a pouch and then tossed her a sealed scroll. “This should be good for that, though.”

She’d bowed down again on one knee. “Thank you, your majesty. It truly means…”

“Yes, yes,” he’d interrupted. “Now, sorry to dash off, but things to do, kinging to accomplish,” he’d said then had left her quarters almost before she could get back to her feet.

She’d blinked, then had looked at the scroll. It had the King’s seal. She had supposed it could contain orders for her death, but why?

Her chest had lightened. She was going to see her liege.

She was going to see Anora again.

Anora first became aware of Cauthrien’s presence in her prison by the sensation of someone watching her. She had been going through what correspondence Alistair had seen fit to grace her with - the boy still seemed to have little idea of what kind of information she needed to actually help him - when she had felt eyes on her back. Wrinkling her face with irritation - really, had she not proven herself to be trustworthy at least as far as such petty acts of surveillance went? - she had turned to face the intruder and… had frozen.

Cauthrien had arrived at the castle and had handed the scroll to the guard on the gate, who’d taken a look at the seal and sent a runner for the captain. She, a hard bitten looking redhead with almost more scars than face, had given Cauthrien a hard look of recognition before breaking the seal and reading the scroll. She had pursed her lips. “Ser Krila,” she had said, offering her hand. “Do you want to be announced to the Lady Anora?”

Cauthrien had fought down the urge to correct the captain. “No, thank you. I’ll go find her myself.”

She had nodded. “I’ll have a man take you to the library.”

Cauthrien hadn’t even bothered trying to demur, simply nodded and followed the man. “In here,” he had finally said, nodding to a door with another guard standing outside. “Visitor for the Lady Anora,” he had said, and the other guard had nodded.

Standing in front of the door, she had swallowed, inexplicably nervous, before opening the door, stepping inside and closing it behind her. Anora had been seated near a window, bent over a desk with pieces of paper neatly arrayed over it. In profile she had looked thinner, more drawn, less of an overflowing presence than Cauthrien remembered.

She had felt a lump rise in her throat. And then Anora had looked up.

Cauthrien, to Anora’s eyes, had at first looked almost unchanged, almost like her memories of her, albeit with a far less certain expression on her face than Anora could ever remember seeing on her face before. For a moment, she had just let her eyes trace over her familiar features, only pausing at a new scar or where the lines around her eyes were etched more deeply than before.

“Ser Cauthrien,” she had breathed, rising to her feet.

“Milady Anora,” Cauthrien had said, moving towards her.

What happened next depended entirely upon who you asked.

To hear Anora tell it, Cauthrien had strode forward and simply swept her off her feet. Her face haloed by the brilliant sunlight streaming through the window at her back, she had leaned in and kissed Anora with a passion and intensity that took her breath away. In that moment, Anora claimed, she knew that the two of them were meant for each other.

That’s the point at which Cauthrien always scoffs. “There was no kiss,” she proclaims. “I would not have kissed my lady liege — and certainly not with so much… *vigour* — without having properly courted her first. It simply wouldn’t have been appropriate.” She does allow, however, that their might have been an embrace. Even if she describes it more as Anora launching herself into her arms so that was forced to hold tight lest she she drop her liege lady unceremoniously on the floor.

But even though, as was often the case with Anora and Cauthrien, their accounts may have differed in some of the details, there was one point on which they were both in agreement. However it happened, the moment of their reacquaintance marked a change for both of them.

And from that point on, they had a whole new set of fireside stories to tell.


End file.
